The bee tree

A tree full of bees in Cyprus, next to a sacred spring: much buzzing, and behind it gentle splashing.

Beech tree ripples

Summer beech tree in the breeze above a rippling lake, with birdsong

Canal leaves

Two silent videos of autumn leaves floating in the canal, drifting slowly

Gentle canal weir

Smooth-running water down a green-and-purple canal weir by the side of a mossy bank. You can hear the soft white noise of the weir and the camera slowly pans to show different parts of it. (Three and half minutes)

Windy beach tributary

Silent video of a pebbly tributary, water running down to the sea and glistening in the sun, as the clumps of grass bow and shake in the wind. (Four minutes)


Rocky Welsh river

Foam-flecked water flows between lichenous rocks, with gentle white noise and the occasional burr of wind

River waterfalls

Two small waterfalls flowing into a river in which leaves drift downstream, with the sound of the water, faint birdsong, and the brief distant roar of a farm vehicle. A few snatches of distant hikers' conversations are just audible.

Slow churning weir

Silent, slow-motion video of a weir churning and the white water pushing into the rest of the river. (Two minutes)

Silent river ripples

Silent slow-motion video of the ripples on a river (one and a half minutes).

Summery moat

Water flowing into a stone moat in summertime, with the sound of its churning, its light ripples under the bridge, and occasional birdsong.

Churning Weir

 A one-minute video of water churning from a weir into the river and spreading out, just before sunset, with sound.

Dancing Leaf

A two-minute video of a leaf dancing in the wind, in a hedge, with the faint white noise of the wind and distant traffic.

National Poetry Day: Drowsy Substrata

To celebrate National Poetry Day, here is the first poem I wrote that I still like as an adult.

Drowsy Substrata - Megan Kerr

Once upon a thunderstorm
A lightning flash away
Rain promised at the window pane
To take the heat away.
A candle there you brought me
Though the darkness did not flee
Yet it softened at the corners
And in warmth enfolded me.

In a blanket with a candle
At the centre of my heart
All secrets can be naked
In the privacy of dark.
The feelings that lie wordless
Subterranean in my soul
With a flash are in the open
And can still remain as whole.

You can here me talking about the poem and reading it aloud here, at 07:07 mins. The picture is an interpretation of the poem in watercolours by Lin Kerr of Limetrees Studio.

Drifting leaves

This is a three-minute video of leaves floating past the side of a punt. Occasionally, you can also see the reflections of the trees and sometimes hear the punt pole scrape the bottom of the river.

Davey Jones's Alphabet

Slow encrustations of moss, crackling of paint, accumulation and depradation of rust: this is a beauty I walked past twice a day for two years before I saw it.

All photographs © Megan Kerr

Tulips, Frost, Steam, Sunshine

Photograph: Nikki Magennis 2013, all rights reserved

Frost this morning; steam from my neighbour's boiler; sunlight catching the edge of the tulips.

Happy - Tessa Case

"Each item tells a story, reminds me of a memory or is a cool colour, and all make me happy"


Many thanks to Tessa Case for permission to reproduce her photo montage. You can see the original post here and explore more of Tessa Case's photography, design, and creative living at

Piccadilly People - Dan Zappi

Many thanks to Dan Zappi for permission to share his music. You can visit his website at and follow him on Facebook here.

We Have Known Treasure

We have known treasure fairer than a dream
Upon the hills of youth.  And it shall stay
Jewelled in the distance, untarnished and supreme,
For the dark tentacles of life's decay never shall shadow it
Nor over throw its years like hours grown golden in the sun,
Its years lived full in the gathered light,
An amethyst across the sea of night.

For dawn and dusk we knew and caught our breath
With the exquisite maginings of Spring,
Lived deep, talked lightly of this stranger death,
And love grown wistful with remembering
A half familiar tune we used to sing, these were ours,
Love's touch upon our hands, music and flowers
Though in the faithless years they have no part,
These are the endless things, the real of heart.

                                                            – Anon

This poem is listed as Anonymous in Seven Ages: Poetry for a Lifetime (1992) edited by David Owen